


share your mouthful

by magicsoul (cherishiskisa), strawberrv



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Cohabitation, Excessive Usage of Predator-Prey Metaphors, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrv/pseuds/strawberrv
Summary: kihyun is starving. plain and simple, really.
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 34
Kudos: 252





	share your mouthful

**Author's Note:**

> hello !!! it's me, roux! taz will say hi in the end notes, but i just want to thank you for checking this out! :-) this is my first real time collaborating with another author for a fic, and i'm so lucky to be able to do it with the amazingly talented taz! this whole process has been so much fun and so creatively stimulating; i couldn't ask for a better writing partner! needless to say, this all gets pretty gory and sexual, so if those aren't your thing, i'd skip this one! nothing non-consensual, though!  
> thank you again, hope you enjoy! -roux
> 
> ps title from every other freckle by alt-j

kihyun is starving. plain and simple, really. it’s his and only his blunder to shoulder, waiting too long to feed. it’s just that he _hates_ feeding. like, not entirely, it’s good for the obvious reasons, but the whole _process_ leading up to it is so… exhausting.

first there’s finding a club where it’s allowed, which usually limits his options to grimy and hard-to-find places tucked into plazas on strangely hidden street corners, and then there’s picking through the dismal selection of degenerates who actually frequent these places, until he can find someone willing and recently showered. and then there’s the awkwardness of physical closeness between strangers, one of kihyun’s most hated things, shifting sweaty palms from his shoulders to lightly holding his waist, and sometimes people get more touchy than he strictly tolerates, so he has to stop half-way and leave. it’s tedious and tiresome and most of all _inconvenient._ not that baekhyun even granted him the small favor of teaching him how to feed, so he’d spent most of his first time trying to figure out how to make his fangs slot out. he’s been on his own from the beginning.

so, really, how can you blame him for going nearly a month without feeding and ending up too weak to even stand up? you can’t.

luckily, it’s the twenty-first century, and kihyun has an internet connection. he’s always been aware of the _forums,_ edgy black and red webpages, most of which dedicated to finding the other half to complete your hemo-kink dream team, or to espouse the aching desire to acquire _the bite,_ which most people seem to have the wrong information about. kihyun remember less of a bite and more of a very messy ordeal — baekhyun red-mouthed and demonesque in the dim light of his dwelling, telling him he’ll wake up with a kind of thirst that water won’t quench.

however, the past is the past, and kihyun tries not to linger as he clicks through various websites, scrolling through posts and replies and cringe-inducingly desperate message boards.

finally, he ends up on craigslist, the holy mother that gave birth to all modes of seeking out freaks to do something freaky with.

kihyun only suffers a little bit of shameful backspacing as he types out his post, titling it a modest _vampire seeking blood, duh._ the actual content ends up being,

**i live on the east side of town. i’m not a murderer, just very hungry. looking for a doordash-type situation. i will give you twenty dollars. i will not fuck you.  
email for further details:**

and he types out his spam email address, clicks post, and waits. it’s two o’clock on a thursday, so really he shouldn’t expect anything so soon, but he’s pissed off with say yes to the dress because they just sold this really cute pixie-cut girl a hideous mermaid dress, so he can’t distract himself with that. to his surprise and suspicion, he gets an email at two-thirty.

 **re: Hello.**  
Greetings, Lord of Night.  
I hope I do have the right email, but I was interested in your offer on Craigslist. I was just wondering, how long since you yourself have acquired The Bite? Have you been granted the knowledge by your Elders to give it? I’ve been looking for a Sire for upwards of eleven years now, and—

kihyun deletes the email, sighs, and turns on say yes to the dress. he doesn’t have to suffer through the selling of a princess ballgown for very long, though, because at two-forty-two he gets another email.

 **re: bloodletting?**  
hey, i saw your ad on craigslist, think i can help? i’m also on the east side, so i could come over after work today, which ends at 5:30. i’m not a murderer either? thought i should say that. also i’ve been bitten a few times before, so i won’t freak out on you or anything lol. let me know i guess? thanks.

kihyun sits up, groans at the burn of his muscles, and quickly types out a reply.

 **re: bloodletting?**  
wow that’d be great, actually. i’m in 1402 on pinetree dr. it’s by that abandoned pool with all the beanie babies in it? i’m in aptment 503 so just ring that and i’ll buzz you up. thanks so much i’m in kind of a tough spot. i really will pay you lol.

 **re: bloodletting?**  
haha no worries, just some mutual aid. i’ll probably get there around six.

and so, kihyun has a stranger coming over to his apartment in three hours. he attempts to clear off the coffee table, but the edges of his vision start going dark, so he lays back down on the couch and dozes until he gets a buzz.

using the wall to hold himself up, he asks who it is into the receiver, just to be sure.

“uh, i’m — well, i don’t think i actually said my name in the emails, but i’m here with your, uh, doordash?”

kihyun huffs out a laugh and lets the guy up. his voice is low, kind of hoarse, and the more kihyun thinks about it as he waits by the door — kind of familiar.

he gets startled by the knock, and uses the burst of energy to open the door, only to go completely still in shock when he sees who’s on the other side.

“oh,” he says.

looking back at him, equally surprised, if not moreso, is changkyun. changkyun im. he actually stumbles backwards in shock, long winter coat fluttering around him.

“k-kihyun,” he says, not really a question, just a statement of recognition.

they stand like that, silent, for almost a full minute until kihyun’s manners kick in and he steps aside to let changkyun in.

changkyun swallows and slowly walks over the threshold, looking at kihyun in disbelief all the while.

kihyun closes the door, turns to him, and they stare at each other some more.

“i haven’t seen you since—”

“i didn’t even know you—”

they say at the same time, and kihyun bites his tongue and gestures for changkyun to go ahead, and then they do the unbearable thing where changkyun rejects the offer, insists kihyun talk first, and then kihyun has to insist harder, it’s exhausting, but finally changkyun gets out,

“i didn’t um. i didn’t know you! um.” he gestures to kihyun’s general person, and kihyun smiles tightly.

“yeah, i know, it’s been. a long time. i was gonna say i haven’t seen you since the—”

“the bagel thing, yeah,” changkyun interjects, eyes alight.

“that was, what, last christmas? jeez,” he rubs the back of his neck, and kihyun hates being interrupted, but he’s also hit with a variety of memories, all vivid and fucking crystallized thanks to his new ageless brain. changkyun in class, changkyun on the quad, changkyun smiling at him from across the room at various parties, wonho introducing them, finally. changkyun asking him out. kihyun turning him down. yeah. fuck.  
  
they remained polite acquaintances after college, having enough mutual friends to keep them in the same circles, but never really spending time together. and then life happened, and their only interaction in the last year-and-a-half was a run-in at the bagel shop on the corner. kihyun dropped his bagel, changkyun offered to buy him a new one. yeah. _fuck._  
  
“so you — i mean, you’re…? um. still. hungry, right? unless you — unless this is weird. which i’d get.”  
  
kihyun shakes himself back to the present, where changkyun is just a touch older, something in his face that’s hardened now. he smiles and raises a weak arm in the direction of the couch.  
  
“not at all. if anything it’s a relief you’re not a stranger, after all.”  
  
changkyun visibly relaxes, slipping his coat off and carrying it with him over to sit. “i feel the same way,” he says, and loosens his tie until he can slip it over his big nose and off his head, fingers going to the buttons of his shirt.  
  
kihyun swallows; now that there are less layers of fabric in the way, the scent of blood is wafting through the air, mixed with something — paper, metal, other humans, changkyun must work a desk-job, something where he’s sitting, letting dust collect on his shoulders. kihyun feels his fangs push insistently into his mouth, body strengthening minutely at even the prospect of a long-awaited meal.  
  
“alright,” changkyun says, collar of his dress shirt pushed aside, though maintaining modesty by leaving his undershirt untouched. kihyun makes his way over, unsure of whether to sit or remain standing or continue making small talk — this is all so much more complicated now that it’s _changkyun,_ normally he’d bite without so much as a “how are you today?” but this is someone he knows, someone who knows _him._ it’s just different.  
  
as he kneels on the leather of the couch cushions, inches away, he examines the planes of changkyun’s face and neck and torso, figuring out where to put his hands to cause them both the least awkwardness and discomfort. changkyun is so familiar up close, so boyish and sensitive, small mouth set firm, but his lips betray him, soft and kittenish, like he’s at the ready to recite flowery prose on cue. kihyun does recall him participating in a slam poetry event on campus, red-faced but determined, hands clutching papers in front of himself. he interrupts kihyun’s thoughts, though unintentionally. it’s his heart, of course. kihyun had noticed it as soon as he’d reached the second floor in the elevator, so loud it nearly hurt his ears before he’d focused on something else. but now there’s nothing to distract him, the apartment is almost completely silent, still. changkyun’s pulse is much too fast, pounding in fact, and kihyun thinks it must be fear — it has to be. he remembers being afraid before baekhyun had pressed sharpened teeth to his own neck, though those emotions get farther away each day he doesn’t have them. but now, changkyun must be so afraid, of _him,_ and it sends an animal impulse up his spine, makes him feel every bit the bloodhound he is. he had resented his shift, his death, for weeks at first, bitter about the human joys he’ll now miss out on, unable to see the appeal yet. but now, now he knows. he was missing out, really, caught up in all of these terrible and tedious things that mortal life demands, distracted by the insignificant. it wasn’t long until he decided that he’ll take what baekhyun left for him, and he’ll do it even better. he won’t make mess, he won’t have it hurt, even in this desperate state. he’s been there, you see, and recently too, not decades or centuries ago. he remembers how it is to be prey so he will be an even better predator.  
  
changkyun, this unremarkable brown hare, is cornered and trapped, small heart trying to push him to get _up,_ to _go,_ to get away from kihyun who is so much stronger, who could kill him without meaning to. kihyun feels his gums itch in anticipation, venom glands expanding in preparation to inject his prey, make it sweet and docile and most importantly, to slow that beating heart.  
  
yes, every instinct changkyun has must be flooding his system, what little survival skills evolution has left the weak human race with ringing out in his brain, his muscles. but as kihyun’s eyes hungrily sweep over his pulse points, he does not move. his muscles aren’t even tensed. he’s actively forcing himself to relax, he’s ignoring all of the natural warnings he’s getting, tamping down whatever more rational urges he has. all because kihyun asked him to on fucking craigslist. he plays this part almost suspiciously well, but kihyun has no interest in suspicion, not when this is going so smoothly, when changkyun is lying still in voluntary paralysis, when they are both hitting their marks so expertly, victim and creature, pursued and pursuer, stage lights on them. changkyun looks so pathetic, he surely won’t survive the first act.  
  
kihyun’s mouth is so dry, he’s so excited to rip changkyun apart that he’s nearly shaking as he presses one hand to changkyun’s chest, right over that pumping organ as if to smother it, the other brushing changkyun’s hair away from his ear and neck. he’s let it get long, though at least it’s neatly combed, nothing like the bird’s nest it had always been in college. kihyun pulls his tongue away from his teeth, and he leans close, parting his lips.  
  
“push my shoulder if it’s too much; i’m sorry in advance but it’s very difficult to exercise restraint under these conditions,” he says, remembering himself for a moment, reminding himself again that this is changkyun im from college, someone he knows, someone who doesn’t deserve to die on kihyun’s ikea couch on a thursday evening before he’s even gotten a chance to live. changkyun nods, swallows, squirms beneath him like a rat in a trap.  
  
and kihyun can hold himself back no longer; he pushes forward, pressing his nose into changkyun’s skin, the blue veins millimeters away and smelling so wonderful, so delicious, and kihyun, even starved as he is, takes care with the bite, fits his mouth carefully and presses his teeth down. the skin tears like wet paper under his teeth, though, shredding apart so easily, and kihyun’s mouth is filled with so much blood he can hardly drink fast enough, it slips from his lips and crawls down changkyun’s neck in small rivers, staining kihyun’s chin. he detaches to lap it up, and bites again, deeper, caring less and less about neatness by the moment, to get to more blood changkyun hides in his flesh. his grip is too tight on changkyun’s shirt, on his neck, he could break him like this, especially with changkyun pinned completely; they mustn’t do this sitting down in future, it gives kihyun too much power, too much control, it makes it too easy for him to—  
  
“ah,” changkyun says, and all at once kihyun realizes he’s been making noises this entire time, small simpering things, whining like a tea kettle, wet sounds of him biting his lips. kihyun’s ears deliver these sounds to his brain about twelve seconds too late and, startled, he swallows and pulls away with great difficulty, feeling blood sticky on his chin, around his mouth. he must look like the pictures online, blurry and badly lit and wild, pupils surely blown and clearly overindulged, yet still itching for more. insatiable, just as stoker and rice and, hell, even meyer wrote about; looming over his hapless victim — changkyun in white, red stains that will never come out, too pale with his neck a mess of gore, innocent and virginal. quite the gothic literary fantasy. kihyun blinks hard, and changkyun’s actual visage comes into focus; pressed into the corner of the couch, panting, hand hovering over his neck, collar of his work shirt stained permanently. the scene is over. time to exit, stage left.  
  
“sorry,” he breathes.  
  
“sorry, i’ll — i can, let me close it at least.”  
  
changkyun doesn’t protest, shivers as kihyun presses his tongue over the wound, pulls the skin back together, tries not to bite again.  
  
“how are you?” he asks, still close, now taking note of changkyun’s panting breaths, listening hard past the new blood rushing in his ears to get back to its origin heartbeat. it’s fast, but shallow, weak.  
  
changkyun’s eyes are glassy, he looks feverish, but he says, “i’m ok, don’t worry.”  
  
kihyun frowns, gets up to fetch him a cool cloth, grabs his phone just in case that fluttering heart really does give out on them both.  
  
“what about you?” changkyun asks once the cloth is on his forehead and kihyun is sat next to him, sucking the remaining plasma out from between his teeth.  
  
“oh,” kihyun says taking stock of his own condition, suddenly aware of how much _better_ he feels; strong again, senses resharpened.  
  
“amazing, actually, thank you,” he replies, and changkyun smiles lazily.

“good,” he says, and kihyun goes over that which just occurred. he’s stuck on a detail, turning it over and over. changkyun hadn’t, in fact, pushed him away. he had fussed and whined but not — not stopped him, not on purpose. kihyun could have, would have, killed him. but what is all the more concerning is that changkyun evidently would have let him.

they part ways after they’re sure changkyun won’t collapse on the bus back home, and kihyun is less troubled by then, unsure if he’ll ever even speak to changkyun purposefully again, now that he’s sated. they exchanged numbers, but how often do old acquaintances say they’ll spend more time together only to fade back out of each other’s lives? there’s no reason to dwell.  
  
except that there is, of course. because the next time kihyun drags himself back out into the world to find a snack — well, he doesn’t. not for lack of someone willing; he’d have no trouble with that multiple-facial-piercings girl in the corner, or catching someone up in the bathroom, flashing his fangs, but he doesn’t _want_ any of that. he wants changkyun. he concludes that it doesn’t mean anything once he’s back home, a little frustrated and a lot hungry, that it’s a simple craving, nothing more.  
  
isn’t that the beauty of it? he liked his time serving as a blood bag, but isn’t the other side of it so lovely? to take and use and discard when finished? he’s always been like that anyway, overindulgent if given the chance. he’ll take as much of changkyun’s blood as the oaf will give him, and there doesn’t really seem to be a cap on that, if last time is any indication. if changkyun happens to be a meal kihyun deems worthy of a second tasting, he should take it as a compliment.  
  
so, kihyun only dithers for a few more moments before checking the time, confirming that it’s not unreasonably late, and texting changkyun. changkyun, pathetically, responds within seconds, like he was waiting for this; _sure! right now, or?_  
  
god he’s so eager. this is probably a bad idea.  
  
 _if you’re not doing anything, i know it’s late,_ kihyun replies, and thirty-two minutes later he’s buzzing changkyun up, listening to his heartbeat, fast, anticipatory, as he moves through the building.  
  
“sorry, the uh, the bus was late.”  
  
that’s right — changkyun had come from his office last time, he must live somewhere farther away, across town, maybe.  
  
“don’t worry about it,” kihyun says with an easy smile, stepping aside to let changkyun in. he unwinds a wool scarf from around his neck, shrugs off his coat, but once again drapes the garments over his arm instead of using the readily available coatrack in kihyun’s entryway.  
  
“you can hang those up, if you want.”  
  
changkyun startles, halfway to the couch again, turns around blinking his clumsy eyes wider.

“won’t the smell bother you?” he asks, like it’s obvious, like anyone would consider the heightened sense of smell kihyun gained with his untimely death.

kihyun blinks, shrugs, says, “it’s up to you,” and flips on the overhead light, removing them somewhat from the winter evening gloom. changkyun drapes his overthings over the arm of the couch anyway, and kihyun presses his lips together.

“i thought we could stand, tonight,” he suggests, swiftly making his way over and offering a hand, which changkyun takes with some sort of wide-eyed stupidness on his face.

“won’t it be uncomfortable?” he asks, he has so many goddamn questions, but kihyun just shakes his head and settles them in the approximate center of the room.

“no.”

it’ll hopefully be an incentive to have changkyun up and out of the apartment sooner, too, instead of laying flattened and blood-smeared like a particularly indolent piece of roadkill on kihyun’s couch for the better part of an hour.

the scent of blood makes kihyun’s mouth go all tingly, and changkyun resolutely pulls the collar of his shirt aside, just a t-shirt tonight, since he hasn’t come directly from work. kihyun thinks he likes the dress shirt better; changkyun had always looked so undignified in college, one of the many reasons kihyun was disinterested in a courtship, tired and half-teary in his turtlenecks and unflattering rectangular glasses — any kind of uniform or formal-wear lends him at least some sense of amour propre.

changkyun’s warm hand settles on kihyun’s shoulder, and kihyun doesn’t flinch because his senses warned him before it happened, but it’s not his favorite feeling in the world, having one very warm and vaguely clammy shoulder all of the sudden.

luckily once he steps closer and puts his own hand on the back of changkyun’s neck, laying his teeth neatly beneath his skin, changkyun goes boneless, arms falling back to his sides at once.

ah, yes, there it is, that flavor kihyun can’t quite put his finger on — is it possible for blood to have umami? he wonders if changkyun just downs spoonfuls of msg or something, but regardless, it’s all to kihyun’s benefit. he pushes his thumb behind changkyun’s ear, trying to get him to tilt his head more, and changkyun’s breath hitches and he says, “mmh,” and kihyun pets a hand down his arm to soothe him. changkyun is obediently still, though he’s sort of slipping forwards a little bit. kihyun keeps his hand on changkyun’s shoulder to hold him up.

being not on the verge of crumbling to dust this time, thank you very much, kihyun retracts his fangs in a relatively timely manner, licks the bite shut, and steps away.

changkyun blinks his wet eyes open, the tip of his nose still red from the chill outside, standing out even more now thanks to the pallor the rest of his skin has taken.

“you’ll be alright?” kihyun asks, just to be polite, and changkyun nods too hard and makes himself dizzy, reaching out to one of kihyun’s bookshelves for balance.

“will i see you again?” he asks, breathless, eyes struggling to bring kihyun’s face into focus. perhaps the venom has made him bold; kihyun sputters at the directness.

“w-well, i — i don’t know why we wouldn’t,” he mutters, eyeing the spines of some mid century classics on his shelves. 

changkyun says, “oh, how wonderful,” and straightens himself, making his way to take his belongings from kihyun’s couch.

“then i’ll be seeing you?” again, the same question basically, but now worded in the form of a goodbye. 

kihyun blinks at him, face still so clear at this distance thanks to his reinvigoration.

“i suppose,” he says, words unsure, reluctant, just barely making it past the cage of his teeth and into changkyun’s ears.

changkyun grins brightly.

“wonderful,” he says again, and sweeps out the door with not more than a “good night,” coming off his hummingbird tongue.

kihyun’s inability to reject changkyun to his face for a second time has certainly put him in quite the position. for instance, the next time changkyun comes knocking, or rather, crackling through kihyun’s intercom, he brings soup. he sets it on the kitchen table as he sheds that same long winter coat, and kihyun can do little more than stare at it in puzzlement.

changkyun puts his coat and gloves, today, instead of a scarf, over the back of a dining chair, and catches kihyun’s gaze.

“oh — i hope you don’t mind, i thought it’d be easier to grab dinner on my way here than back,” he explains, hands twisted together, face very sheepish or any number of trifling farm animal characters. a barn mouse comes to mind.

“sure,” kihyun says, miffed. as changkyun begins to move to the living room area they had been in last time, kihyun waves a hand.

“i’m sure — if you’d rather the table, i’m sure it’s fine.”

changkyun cocks his head, “are you sure?” now perhaps a herding dog, border-collie-innocent.

“yes, i’ve just said that,” kihyun says, lifting his voice at the end so as not to come off too rude.

the feeding itself is now familiar, changkyun all soft and dull and delicious under kihyun’s wicked-wild hands, but it’s the minutes afterwards which give kihyun pause. he takes a tissue from the box he keeps in the center of the table (the top one having gathered dust in its disuse) and wipes at the corners of his mouth, and changkyun shakily navigates a plastic spoon into his to-go cup to gather what looks like kale soup and bring it to his mouth, lips parting. it occurs to kihyun that they are, in a sense, having dinner together, and he immediately shakes the rogue thought off; this is something very different and much stranger than any of the domestic bliss he’ll never experience.

he must admit, though, that there is something nostalgic about watching changkyun eat. the act he performs to give his body energy is so much less violent than kihyun’s; it’s quiet, and slow. kihyun remembers how it was to enjoy a hot meal after a long day as a human, something so guiltless about it. but, he supposes, it’s all the same in the end, whether it’s kale soup or blood, all creatures must eat.

the following weeks and, to kihyun’s surprise as he glances at the calendar on his desk one evening, months, are some of the strangest of his life. he and changkyun fall into a schedule without actually arranging it — it’s just that apparently tuesdays are better for changkyun’s schedule, though for what reason kihyun does not know and refuses to ask, lest changkyun say something so utterly mundane that kihyun immediately desiccates and turns to dust.

but usually he’s quiet. it comes as a surprise whenever he garners enough energy to speak, catches kihyun off-guard each time, makes him feel just a shade of guilt for not looking after changkyun more when changkyun clearly needs some medical intervention, because though kihyun is always careful, so careful not to drink more than he should, not to hurt him, it’s still a fair amount of blood that he’s lost. kihyun tells himself that that’s why he lets changkyun stick around, make occasional conversation while he has his own dinner in turn, just to make sure his death won’t be on kihyun’s conscience forevermore.

“what’s that?” changkyun asks, cheek resting against the back of kihyun’s kitchen chair.

kihyun turns to see what he’s looking at; the dimming tv, stuck on the netflix pause screen, gives nothing away. “oh,” kihyun says, “i was just watching say yes to the dress.”

“no way,” changkyun says, and kihyun doesn’t like what his face is starting to do, something altogether too energetic for someone who just lost at least a good two pints of blood. “you’re still into that?”

kihyun bristles immediately. “no,” he says, but that sounds way too defensive, so he dials it back: “maybe. who cares? it’s not like i have anything better to do. i’m in here alone all day, and it’s entertaining, that’s the point of reality tv, it’s entertainment.”

changkyun is still smiling at him the way someone smiles at a butterfly that just lighted on their hand. “i just remembered that from college, that’s all. didn’t you apply to work at kleinfeld’s once, on a whim?”

“i didn’t submit the application,” kihyun says, “and that was all minh— anyway, do _you_ still write your _poetry?”_

it works like a charm. changkyun goes paradoxically red, and though he always talks so slow after kihyun feeds, now his babbling mechanisms are starting to kick into gear. “um— i— well, the— my material, it— since college i haven’t really— um, not a whole lot, no,” he finally finishes lamely, and kihyun rolls his eyes.

“at least i’m consistent,” he says, then goes quiet, reminiscing, and he knows changkyun is, too. maybe it’s the stolen blood coursing through his veins, but sometimes he does feel like he knows just what changkyun is thinking. but he’s aware that the concept of an organ recipient retaining personality traits from the donor is pseudoscience; isn’t his whole existence pseudoscience, though? college was an interesting time for the both of them. if anything, changkyun seemed more the vampire, always wearing black and skulking around at odd hours of the night. hiding behind his glasses and his thick foucault anthologies. not saying very much when the whole group all got together, though he always had a smile for kihyun, and usually jooheon, at least. kihyun remembers him very clearly, though they were certainly never close. his typical haunts, the sorts of things he wore. but he remembers all of that about everyone, of course. sometimes it seems like he’ll never forget anything again. god, he wishes he could — it’s so cluttered inside his head. “don’t know how you never got sick drinking that coffee from that horrible place you were always hanging out in,” he adds dryly. he went just one time between classes, but he couldn’t even finish the cup, but changkyun insisted on that coffee shop of all places as his hideout of choice, and could be found there at practically all times of day. 

changkyun looks oddly stricken at the statement. kihyun had intended it as a slight dig, but not _that_ strong. “oh,” changkyun says, sounding a little distant. “oh, i— i didn’t know you noticed where i went.”

fuck, that’s why he was so affected. “i didn’t, really,” kihyun says. but clearly he did, and now clarifying any further would sound even more like overcompensation. fuck. and explaining that he can’t forget anything about his past life, that he remembers all kinds of details about all kinds of folk, seems like it’d be needlessly mean. rubbing salt into changkyun’s dubiously unhealed wounds. 

so instead, he reaches for the remote to flicker the tv back to life, and they watch the end of the rest of the episode together — kihyun offers to start it over from the beginning, but changkyun, now a faint line through his cheek from the fabric of kihyun’s chair, just smiles faintly and says he’ll pick it all up as he goes along.

in coming weeks, changkyun now always brings his dinner with him, and kihyun would offer him a drink, he really would, if he had anything to offer other than the tap water that his apartment has notified him is not, in fact, safe for human consumption, or changkyun’s own blood that he could regurgitate into his mouth in the style of avian feeding. so, kihyun does not offer him a drink, he watches changkyun eat his soup, or his california rolls, or his gyro, or his steamed broccoli with fascination that he himself cannot understand. it’s just that changkyun’s mouth really is so small, so it’s entertaining to watch him attempt to fit various consumables in there, and that he tends to get food stuck in his right molars, so he’s always running his tongue over them and he pulls a funny face while doing it. it’s like tv. or better, even. kihyun can’t control the actions of the people on his screen, but with changkyun, it’s all a different story.

**_***_ **

it doesn’t _feel_ illicit or dirty, but sometimes it looks like it, the way changkyun lies there, panting, spread-eagled and pliant on the couch or by the kitchen table and staring sightlessly at nothing at all. shirt undone, hair a mess, eyes blown dark, lips parted, the faintest hint of a bruise blooming gorgeous on his neck. kihyun, the cat that got the cream, leaves him to do his post-dinner rituals, content to bask in the glory of his renewed strength. for the moment, he’s resuming packing; one of the reasons he’d called changkyun to come over even though they weren’t due to meet again for another week is that he was finding his boxes of books harder and harder to lift. stupid fucking undead atrophied muscles. but this is better. jane austen’s collected works: should they go in the box with kihyun’s favorites, or simply with pre-war british literature? kihyun makes a thoughtful noise and balances the entire stack on one hand for now, reaching up to see what else is on this shelf.

“you… getting rid of those?” changkyun’s extremely breathless, enfeebled voice says from the chaise. 

“god, no,” kihyun answers without looking back. “i’m packing.”

“oh,” changkyun says, and while his slow, vulnerable mind considers the meaning of this, kihyun places jane with his favorites, then moves on to having the same internal debate about the brontës. “you’re moving?”

“in a couple of weeks,” kihyun says. “figured i may as well stop dealing with parasitic landlords and just buy a house to roost in until the end of time.”

“good call,” changkyun mumbles. 

kihyun can’t let him fall asleep. if he falls asleep, he might die. or something. maybe kihyun should research how much humans need their blood. at any rate, he comes over to his side, pulling out his phone, figuring he may as well keep him awake until he leaves. “wanna see the place?”

“sure,” changkyun says, and struggles to sit up, mindlessly grasping one of the throw pillows from the chaise and putting it in his lap. kihyun perches by his side, and he never takes up much space anyway, so not even their knees or elbows touch as kihyun opens up the real estate listing and changkyun leans in to see. “oh, it’s nice.”

“kind of a fixer-upper, but it’s not like i have anything better to do with my time.” kihyun already knows he’ll loathe dealing with all the dust and renovations, but, well. no need for a real kitchen, no need for AC or heating, a minuscule amount of running water a month just in case kihyun gets dusty walking down the street or something. vampire-specific housing. he should patent that. he taps through the pictures, then eventually just hands the phone over to changkyun so he can see it better. “three-bedroom. obviously one is just going to be a library.”

“obviously,” changkyun agrees. “gonna put your coffin in the other one? stone fireplace, creepy portrait, big ol’ desk for writing in your creepy vampire journal?”

kihyun scoffs and shoves at changkyun’s shoulder. but he’d misinterpreted changkyun’s ability to bicker for physical recovery, because changkyun is still weak, and he makes a pained noise and trembles for a moment, dizzy. shit, kihyun always forgets how strong he gets after he eats, and how conversely useless changkyun becomes. he didn’t mean to hurt him. and it must be something like remorse, it must be something like mercy, because unbidden, he shakes his head and says, “it could be yours, if you want.”

“what?” changkyun says, all hurt forgotten, eyes going huge. “my— what?”

fuck, even kindness feels different post-change. kihyun decides he doesn’t like it, his expression souring. “you said you hate your place,” he says flatly. “and i have a spare room. you can have it, if you want. but you’ll pay for your own utilities, since i won’t be using them.”

“kihyun, you don’t have to let me live with you just because my power goes out once a week,” changkyun says gently. he’s giving kihyun a very, very odd look. “i’m fine. if you’re thinking about distance, i can take the bus, it’s no big deal—”

“i offered,” kihyun snaps. “you can take it or leave it. i’m moving my things on the 23rd. so let me know either way. i couldn’t care less.”

“you couldn’t— but _you_ offered, though?” changkyun points out, and kihyun cannot abide being pitied, he cannot abide the way changkyun looks so confused and hopeful and careful and pleased, so he stands stiffly, smooths his hands down his shirt, and with one palm shows changkyun the way to the door, even though it’s right there. changkyun understands. he gets up, slowly, finds his shoes, and puts a hand on the doorknob. “i’ll let you know,” he says. kihyun is already back at the bookshelf, ignoring him. “thank you.”

kihyun makes an impatient noise, then hears the door open and shut, and changkyun’s fluttering heartbeat making its way down the stairs and out of the building. it’s very distinctive, his heartbeat. sometimes kihyun thinks he hears it on the street, on the rare occasions he goes out, and he turns to find the source, but it’s never really him. 

**_***_ **

kihyun has never been one to enjoy having a roommate. even when he was alive. he simply has too many preferences and habits that are incompatible with cohabitation. when forced to do it, second- and third-year college, he’d avoided his roommates as much as possible, and he’d never roomed with his friends, having read plenty of articles cautioning against the idea. not usually one to believe fickle public opinion, but, well. he’d fought too hard to endear himself to these people to lose their friendship over mis-matched chore ideologies. it was none of his business if minhyuk only did laundry once every two months (and that much was obvious without them even needing to live together to confirm it, anyway). he preferred to keep his distance. his roommates past had compared him to a vampire on more than one occasion. kihyun wonders if they’d find it funny, were they to find out. or maybe they’d just accept it, no question. more likely than not, they probably wouldn’t even care. 

but living with changkyun, roommate out of necessity and not quite friend, isn’t as easy to categorise. does kihyun avoid him? not as much as changkyun avoids _him_. changkyun has a job and goes to it, sometimes, and he’d tried to explain what he does to kihyun but neither of them had been too invested in the explanation so he’d given up halfway through. he doesn’t seem to have other friends (kihyun is not one of his friends). no social life to speak of — doesn’t he keep up with the old crowd? from college? what a waste. kihyun resents him, in an unfamiliar way, for not taking the chances that are no longer available to kihyun. minhyuk wouldn’t want to see him like this. hyungwon wouldn’t want to see him like this. hyunwoo and hoseok wouldn’t want to see him like this. kihyun hasn’t asked them, too scared to tell them, but he knows. changkyun could break the news gently, though. start with “kihyun asked me to move in with him,” and then “he’s also a vampire now” won’t seem as shocking by comparison. changkyun could be the bridge, the missing link. but he hasn’t offered, and so kihyun resents. 

they barely see each other. changkyun has needs, human needs. he experiences things like bedhead and wanting breakfast. kihyun does his best to stay out of his way whilst he putters around the house at odd hours. he takes a frankly embarrassing amount of naps. on the couch, mainly. in his v-neck shirts and not even bothering to cover himself with a throw blanket to stay warm. is he expecting kihyun to do it or something? kihyun will do no such thing. he doesn’t even own any throw blankets. they’re tacky and useless. so he leaves changkyun curled up and half-shivering on the couch, and sees him as little as he possibly can. not friends. hardly roommates. and yet —

“changkyun,” kihyun calls softly, and the house is so still that changkyun, even from downstairs, hears him.

“coming,” changkyun calls back, just as soft. 

kihyun waits. changkyun’s footsteps, soft, too, up the stairs. kihyun was already impatient when he was alive; now that his time is limitless, his patience shrinks from day to day. he can hear each of changkyun’s footfalls, the rush of his heartbeat louder and louder the closer he gets to kihyun’s room. kihyun no longer has the ability to salivate, but if he could, he would. surely changkyun can’t always have smelled this good — kihyun has a flash of a memory, a party, cologne. changkyun brushing past him with a drink in each hand, evidently sharing with someone. kihyun didn’t see where he went, but that cloying smell stuck with him throughout the night. it had felt too strong at the time. like he was trying too hard. but now he thinks that if changkyun bottled _that,_ whatever it is, kihyun would buy the whole manufacturing run until it sold out, if only to prevent anyone else from ever experiencing that scent. after all, if even kihyun can barely restrain himself, a lesser man would do far worse. 

but kihyun no longer needs to restrain himself — changkyun is here for one purpose and one purpose only. he hovers in the doorway of kihyun’s room, as though he’s the vampire, the one that needs express invitation to enter a space. presumably he thinks this is funny or witty, but it is neither, it’s just yet another fucking obstacle between kihyun and his dinner. kihyun allows him in with a genteel tilt of his head, and he’s already standing to meet him, and changkyun is unbuttoning his shirt. pavlov’s dog weeps from beyond its grave. after being turned, kihyun found the noises of humanity excruciating, at first, until he adjusted to his newly-improved hearing; all their breathing and coughing and moving and living. but changkyun has learned to be quiet. his fingers scarcely rasp across the fabric of his shirt as he opens the collar. always so shy, so slow, but kihyun can hear the way his heart is beating, and he’d mistaken it for fear at first, rabbit-scared, prey-animal fast, but changkyun had corrected him, dozy and helpless and mumbling, after a particularly big lunch — it’s just adrenaline. fight or flight. he’d been so matter-of-fact about it, too. like someone had explained it to him before. but kihyun tries not to dwell on that. it’s none of his business why changkyun knows the intimate details of his own reaction to being fed on — none of his business why changkyun had replied so quickly to that ad, all those months ago, like he’d just been on that specific craigstlist forum, waiting. all that matters is that he’s here now. 

“should i sit?” changkyun asks, his collar rumpled and open, giving him the air of a byronic hero afflicted by tuberculosis, but kihyun can _hear_ how healthy he is, can taste the vibrance of him on the air already. it’s all affectation. normally kihyun would be annoyed by his pretentious attempts at edginess, but when he’s this hungry, he can’t bring himself to care.

“no, stay there,” he replies. if he starts going too far, if he starts hurting him, it’s harder to tell if changkyun is seated, but if they’re both upright, changkyun’s knees will start to give out, and kihyun will, probably, stop. common courtesy, nothing more. changkyun watches him with dark eyes. even from here his skin smells clean. when was the last time they did this — last week? why is kihyun still so hungry? perhaps the luxury of having a live-in juice box has made him more dependent than he would like to be. he’ll have to wean himself off, eventually, when changkyun inevitably bores of this arrangement. yes, kihyun will have to decrease his intake, and he’ll be fine, and he’ll start soon, but— not right now. not _that_ soon. not with changkyun looking at him like that.

“stay still,” kihyun says. he doesn’t salivate, but his fangs lengthen, his mouth prickling from the inside. and changkyun goes motionless, his pulse beating louder and louder. “if i hurt you—”

“i know, i know,” changkyun says. “you won’t.”

kihyun gives him an unamused look. just because changkyun lets kihyun snack on him pretty much whenever he needs to doesn’t mean he’s allowed to interrupt. “don’t forget to breathe,” he adds. 

“i’ll try,” changkyun says wryly. he tilts his head to the side. sardonic, never taking anything seriously, not even this, he lifts his hand and smacks his palm against his neck — it leaves a faint pink mark, but it’s gone again in another moment. “go ahead already. i can tell you’re hungry.”

stop assuming you know me, kihyun wants to say. unlearn everything you think you know. none of it matters anymore. i’m not who you think i am. but he doesn’t say anything, just approaches. backs changkyun up against the wall. they avoid each other all day, never speak when they’re in the same room, and god what kihyun wouldn’t give to be more like edward fucking cullen so he could know what goes on in that unkempt head of his, but they hardly interact save through passive-aggressive notes and occasional eye contact, until _this._ when they’re like this, kihyun finds it nigh impossible to believe they could ever be apart. 

changkyun’s breath is high and tight in his throat, so excited, and heat radiates off him in waves, burning kihyun the closer and closer he gets. kihyun holds him still — one hand at his shoulder, the other under his chin, tilting his head up to inspect his neck, pick a side, where to begin? the dilemma of too much choice leaves him paralyzed. changkyun is wholly at his disposal, it’s all his for the taking, a lord in his very own lands. kihyun leans in, lips pulling back, to just scrape his fangs over him, and changkyun whimpers, his hands jumping up to hold kihyun’s shoulders. not pushing away; quite the opposite. drawing him in. 

“stay still,” kihyun breathes, barely audible, and changkyun nods frantically, and the motion is enough to push him closer and kihyun’s fang breaks skin. “fuck—” ungrateful wretch can’t even hold still long enough for kihyun to feed properly. kihyun surges forward, greedy, can’t waste a single drop, and fits his mouth to the puncture point to suck him, rich and thick, neither savory nor sweet, but maybe closer to sweet. changkyun isn’t breathing, his little noises struggling in his throat, but kihyun can’t pull away to remind him even though he can taste his pulse slowing. he presses closer. hips against hips. runs his free hand up his chest, and changkyun’s fingers are digging so tightly into kihyun’s shoulders, head lolled to the side so needy, what could he possibly be getting out of this? kihyun knows the venom has an… effect, of sorts, but to _this_ extent? he presses his cold-but-warming fingertips to the base of his throat, and that’s enough to make changkyun gasp, chest shuddering with the effort. he’s so fragile. so delicate. just a boy, entrusting his immortal life to a man who’ll never die. and god, he tastes so fucking good. 

kihyun loses track of time, which is a dangerous thing to do when changkyun is so vulnerable. he’d be no good to kihyun if drained completely, and as tempting as he makes it when he misbehaves, kihyun needs to show restraint. changkyun is already weak against him, that feverish grip on kihyun’s shoulders going slack, and kihyun retracts, licks his lips, licks changkyun’s neck, soothes the bite with his tongue until it’s closed and smooth once more. the only trace his feeding leaves is the pallor on changkyun’s face, the way he can’t catch his breath, jittery and unsteady and still pressed tight against the wall, maybe because he’d fall if he were to move away. kihyun keeps his lips there, enjoys the aftertaste, and it’s _not_ a kiss but it’s something near it, like he’s taunting changkyun with the possibility of biting him again. changkyun knows it, too, loves it, and one of his shaking hands moves from kihyun’s shoulders to brush through kihyun’s hair, ending up curled around the back of his ear.

“too much?” kihyun murmurs, and turns his head to the side, nestling into changkyun’s palm.

“not enough,” changkyun rasps. he always talks so slow after kihyun feeds. paradoxically, his eyes are so much brighter, his cheeks so much redder. it’s cute. 

kihyun’s eyes go up to check, and changkyun is watching him, and kihyun doesn’t look away as he slides his lips down the exposed honey of his wrist, the skin here is paper-flimsy, impossibly soft, and kihyun bites _again,_ drinks in his sweet blood as much as he drinks down that reaction, the way changkyun moans, eyes heavy, fingers pulsing and flexing helpless in kihyun’s hair. 

when kihyun was alive, peaches were his favorite fruit. he liked them overripe. held them in his fingers and bit without any care, letting the nectar drip down to his elbow. and now the bower lives in his home with him, offers up its holy fruits, even thanks kihyun afterwards with each beat of its summer-mellowed heart. changkyun has tears in his eyes and kihyun makes himself draw back, kisses his wounds closed, lingers for a moment more in apology. he’d meant to stop, honestly, he had. 

after that first time, kihyun doesn’t thank changkyun anymore. it just feels awkward. he lets changkyun live with him rent-free, which is surely thanks enough. he pulls away, wipes his lips with the back of his hand — a reflex, redundant. what would changkyun’s mouth taste like, kihyun wonders detachedly. he tastes different at his wrist than he does at his neck. 

“i’m— i gotta—” changkyun starts, his breath feeble. 

“sure,” kihyun says. god, he feels good. he probably looks good, too, and that effect won’t last too long — he needs to make his way out to a club and find someone to satisfy his _other_ primary physical need before it fades. 

they don’t talk about it — that would be awkward, too, and there’s no reason to acknowledge a simple fact. the venom does have an effect, kihyun knows. of course it affects changkyun. he’s only human, after all. so human — kihyun warily eyes the long stretch of his neck as his shaking hands button his shirt up again. he can hear the arousal singing through changkyun’s veins, can taste it down the back of his own throat, but that’s a song for someone else to hear. changkyun doesn’t look at him, just leaves the room, and by the time he’s going down the stairs, kihyun is getting dressed in something hotter, tighter pants, hair pulled back, white shirt to hang slim-loose on his lean frame. thank god the thing about not having a reflection ended up being a myth; he checks how good he looks, relishes the sight. changkyun makes it out the front door before kihyun, though. like a race, but they both get to win, depending on who makes it home first. kihyun hasn’t decided if he’ll bring someone back here, or go to theirs — depends on who he finds. but he has no shame about fucking a stranger with changkyun in the house; changkyun does it plenty, too. 

it’s not horniness. it’s just another odd quirk of vampire biology, yet another fucking thing baekhyun didn’t bother to explain. the blood makes kihyun more alive, more human, and what do humans want more than to fuck? kihyun has grown accustomed to being one kind of predatory animal, and when he goes to his preferred gay bar, ten minutes away, he’s a different kind of hunter. it has nothing to do with changkyun — he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. kihyun doesn’t think about it, even when changkyun is in the next room, sharing a wall, the sounds he makes so like and yet unlike the ones he whimpers out when kihyun is drinking sweet resurrection from his neck. the young man who can’t take his eyes off kihyun right now looks a little like changkyun, actually, but not to the point that kihyun seeks him out because of it. no, he seeks him out because he’s pretty and glowing hot with his vitality, sweaty from dancing but not unpleasantly so, and he offers to buy kihyun a drink and just blushes when kihyun says he doesn’t, can’t, drink _that._ he eats the maraschino cherry from his own cocktail before they make out against the bar, and it’s bitter in kihyun’s mouth, chemical and unfamiliar. but kihyun has gotten this far, and even though jinhwan’s tongue is overeager down his throat, he thinks he might not mind a little overeagerness, and it’d be a pain to start over with someone else. they abandon the bar, walk down the street, hands brushing as they go, and jinhwan needs to burrow up in an oversize denim jacket to protect against the nighttime cold but kihyun is flushed with life, warm, and it’s so funny to be the warm one for a change that he presses jinhwan against a wall a block away from his house and kisses him until those pillowy lips aren’t as chilled against his own. 

“do you live alone?” jinhwan asks curiously, following as kihyun leads him inside. “this place is pretty big.”

“i have a roommate,” kihyun says. “but he won’t bother us. he’s probably not even—” muffled noises from upstairs, laughing, the sound of something falling over. ah. “well, he’s here, but it’s fine.”

“if you say so,” jinhwan shrugs, and there’s something of changkyun in his smile, too, so kihyun covers it with a kiss, not wanting to examine anything of the sort any further. his need makes him careless; he lets jinhwan undress him, and undresses him in turn, shedding clothes like past lives on their way up the stairs until they’re in his bed. no, jinhwan doesn’t look anything at all like changkyun. he’s slim where changkyun is broad, and he smells metallic, antique, in no small part thanks to the tattoos crawling along his spine. kihyun pins his wrists to the bed, charms him with his gaze, his lovely, sharp-fanged smile, adores the way he shivers in response. it’s just a human response. nothing special about changkyun, the way he trembles and submits when kihyun makes himself known. jinhwan is trembling, too, but his moans are different. kihyun has been hard for what feels like the better part of an hour, and he lets jinhwan suck him while fingering himself open, then jinhwan rides him, kihyun’s delicate hands molded tightly to the curves of his waist. but it feels too passive, kihyun needs _more,_ and he flips them over, fucks jinhwan into the mattress, presses his mouth against jinhwan’s neck but he’d never, _never_ bite him, not with changkyun in the next room, changkyun gasping, begging, god, _what_ is whoever’s in there doing to him? jinhwan doesn’t seem to mind the noise, and kihyun is losing it, before he was warm but now it’s like he’s burning up, someone is getting fucked and kihyun can’t tell if it’s changkyun or the other human whose heartbeat rushes in his ears, everything is so fucking loud — skin on skin, jinhwan’s hoarse, confident moans, the rhythmic motion of changkyun’s bed, and louder than the rest, changkyun’s blood in kihyun’s body, calling out to reunite, calling out for closeness, for unity, for changkyun. by the time kihyun finishes and rolls off of jinhwan’s flexible, willing body (“i could go for another round,” jinhwan offers, eyelashes fluttering down his cheeks, walking his fingers along kihyun’s chest until kihyun gently shoulders his hand away), the room that shares a wall with his is silent. they seem to be downstairs; that was fast. he can have people spend the night, it’s his house too, kihyun would be a hypocrite for forbidding him something as simple as that. kihyun lets jinhwan rest his head on his shoulder, stares at the ceiling, and thinks about how much he misses smoking. kihyun, always with his addictions, his dependencies, his fixations. in some ways, nothing changed even after he died. changkyun brings his hook-up back upstairs. they’re laughing again, talking, interrupting each other in their rush to get to become closer friends. a woman. kihyun is incapable of sleeping, but he closes his eyes and lies still until jinhwan regains full consciousness from his post-coital doze. it’s easier this way. 

“call me,” jinhwan says hopefully, getting dressed, and kihyun makes a vague promise he’ll never keep and sends him back out into the night while changkyun and his doubtless lovely one-night-stand cuddle, whispering to each other, three feet of drywall away from kihyun. bullshit. why should he be having more fun than kihyun is?

“keep it down,” kihyun says, knocks his fist against the wall to get their attention, and he’s met with more giggling and then, blessedly, quiet. they’re probably kissing. kihyun is already dead but he wishes he could die another time — it’d be better than never getting to sleep again. 

**_***_ **

“what is that?” kihyun asks, once all is done, once he’s carefully tongued changkyun’s neck back to wholeness and they’re just standing pressed too close against the wall, both acting casual like changkyun wouldn’t crumple to the floor without kihyun holding him up. it’s easier than saying thank you. kihyun still doesn’t thank him. the longer this goes on, the more he feels like he should, but. not right now.

“oh,” changkyun says, very faint and distant. his breath is shallow and his pulse is feeble. “you noticed. you… like it?”

kihyun doesn’t confirm or deny, just stays where he is. they’re pretending everything is alright, but he can tell he went too far, and some part of him regrets it, wants to make amends, but it was harder than usual to stop himself — changkyun always tastes good, but whatever he’s been doing lately has really been working, and changkyun would have easily let him go further, until there was hardly anything left. kihyun has never met a person with a weaker self-preservation instinct, it’s incredible. changkyun’s hands, pulse thrumming in his fingertips as he tries to regain strength, are holding loosely at kihyun’s elbows. kihyun allows it. noses under changkyun’s jaw, counts the beats of his heart. 

“i’ve been— iron supplements,” changkyun explains, still labored. talking lazy, extraordinarily low in pitch. kihyun can feel him talking as much as he can hear it. “eating more c… cruc... cruciferous vegetables. smoothies. y’know, vitamins.”

“look at you, the paragon of health and wellness,” kihyun murmurs. “shame you’re always suffering from extreme blood loss.”

“wonder whose fault that is,” changkyun says, but kihyun can hear he’s smiling, and they’re so close together and changkyun is so weak that he can no longer support the weight of his own body, so he leans on him, head inclined lightly against kihyun’s. his breath is losing that raspy, wet quality it gets while kihyun feeds, so he must be gradually recuperating. good. kihyun will let him have this moment until he’s all better, then they can go their separate ways. “if you liked it, be sure to—” he wheezes for a moment, out of breath, and kihyun, alarmed, is about to pull back and ask if maybe, maybe this time they should call an ambulance or something, kihyun will promise to not be weird while changkyun gets a transfusion if that’s really necessary, but then changkyun weakly continues, “—leave a f-five star review on yelp.”

bastard. kihyun will never worry about him again. he hisses softly, near-playfully, against the fluttering skin of his jugular. “dear yelp,” he says, because he knows it’ll make changkyun laugh. “ _zero_ out of five stars. my thermos—” and this time changkyun half-moans even as he giggles— “has a horrible attitude, and even though it keeps my lunch very warm, i could do without the constant mess in the kitchen that it insists on maintaining.”

“i know where everything is,” changkyun protests. “you don’t— don’t even _use_ the kitchen. doesn’t matter.”

“dear yelp, this power bar tastes amazing, but it has a dreadful sense of entitlement,” kihyun says. changkyun’s hands are tighter on his elbows now, keeping him this close. “dear yelp, the problem with this vending machine is that it only serves one kind of drink.”

“amazing?” changkyun repeats, suddenly so hopeful, his tone completely changed, and kihyun abruptly realizes who he is, who _they_ are, what they’re doing, and starts to pull away from him in earnest this time. he doesn’t compliment. he doesn’t give pet names or make fond pillowtalk afterwards. never mind the list he’d been coming up with, more joking titles to make changkyun laugh-moan like that again — five-hour energy, lunchable, drive-thru. they haven’t ever even kissed. they’re not going to, kihyun doesn’t want to. mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea. it’d be bad. unfair to everyone. changkyun probably got over him fast, anyway. after kihyun said no, hundreds of thousands of years ago, in another lifetime, he lost track of him a bit, but eventually he saw him running around campus with some other guy. changkyun wants this, nothing more. no need to bring in a dynamic that nobody is interested in. kihyun lets go, and changkyun sways but braces himself with a hand against the wall, and kihyun has nothing else to say to him so he just turns and goes out of the room. places to be, things to do, etc. non-home places, non-changkyun things. maybe a little distance would do them both some good. 

**_***_ **

kihyun knows what he’s doing. by this point, it’s hard to deny. they’ll never talk about it, and kihyun likes it this way, this game they’re both only half-participating in. the routine is simple: changkyun comes to him, kihyun feeds, they separate, and one or both of them comes back to fuck someone else. kihyun doesn’t _hide_ in his room afterwards, but the thought of making knowing eye contact with changkyun or — even worse, god forbid, kihyun’s skin crawls — changkyun’s hook-up in the darkened hallway is enough to make him remain in isolation, content with his own thoughts, his renewed strength and energy, and sometimes, once the coast is clear and the pathetic humans are asleep, he goes out again. not to find another partner, but just to walk, to see the city for a change, to see and feel things. but when he fucks the stranger of the week, the big-eyed hemo-kink grad student or the coy, grinning business professional who’ll ask outright if kihyun doesn’t want to gag him with his very own tie, sure, he puts on a show. changkyun, on the other side of the wall, does too. kihyun doesn’t dare to let himself imagine changkyun as the twisting, writhing body underneath him, except for when he does, and he _hates_ this, he hates anything remotely resembling pining, anything that makes him seem like the stereotype of a decrepit, undead monster walled up in a remote castle, which he is rapidly, inevitably becoming anyway. but he’s not pining; he doesn’t _want_ anything. he’s happy with things the way they are. he gets what he wants from changkyun, and gets the rest from somewhere else. changkyun does the same. it works. 

right up until it doesn’t, of course.

at first, seemingly, nothing is different about tonight. kihyun has his dinner. stays close as changkyun catches his breath, changkyun’s shaking fingers curled around the back of his neck. “feel good?” kihyun murmurs into the line of changkyun’s shoulder, and changkyun nods his hot-mouthed confirmation, and they stand there together until changkyun is a little steadier and they can go about their business. changkyun to— wherever it is he goes, a bar, a late-night poetry slam, who fucking knows, and kihyun to his usual club. hungry and impatient like a fledgling, he waits, but no one catches his eye, no one stands out from the crowd, and no one approaches him first. which happens sometimes, and kihyun prefers taking initiative, anyway, so he can pick someone to his liking. but the pickings, unfortunately, are slim. and kihyun hates leaving empty-handed, but what’s he going to do, go to another bar? risk the same disgrace there, too? he even got all dressed up, fuck. annoyed, dissatisfied, that still same prickle of need running electric under his skin, he goes back home, and, adding insult to insult to insult, the upstairs light is on; changkyun, it seems, has had better luck.

were kihyun a polite, good person, he might go somewhere else until they’re done, or at the very least be quiet coming in. he is not polite or good, however, and hardly a person anymore at all, so he slams the door behind himself, tosses his keys down in the bronze tray with a noisy clatter, searches the recesses of his mind for something else to do and affects an exaggerated cough. from upstairs, kihyun’s hawk-sharp hearing picks up some confused mumbling, something something roommate?

“he doesn’t care, it’s fine,” changkyun replies, then presumably dives back in tongue-first, judging by all the wet, slick sounds of their kissing. one of the very, very few downsides of the sharpening of kihyun’s senses post-meal, he gets all the gory sound effects without the no doubt even gorier visual. 

well, fine. kihyun huffs, his annoyance only growing, and stomps his way up the stairs and into his own room. the house already smells like sex — how quickly did changkyun manage to find some eager, willing idiot to tumble him for the night? changkyun’s heartbeat, even from here, even through the wall, drowns out nearly all the rest, to the point where kihyun can’t hear the corresponding beat of changkyun’s partner. other than changkyun, his moans, his heart, the house is fairly silent. but changkyun is so worked up, clearly, more than usual, and kihyun gets into bed fully clothed, leaning his head back against the plaster. he imagines changkyun on the other side, maybe with his hands pressed against the wall, caged in by whoever’s with him the way he is by kihyun when he feeds. changkyun’s breathy, excited whimpers are beyond obscene, and kihyun closes his eyes and listens for the moment when changkyun’s companion slips it in. kihyun’s borrowed blood steams his cheeks a flushed pink, and he’s not human anymore but he can hardly help his reaction — christ, it’s like changkyun is _performing,_ he has to be faking it, nobody sounds like this. everything else is inaudible; it’s just his moaning, his desperation, the rush of his blood in his veins, to the point that he may as well be alone in there, kihyun can’t hear anything but him. literally, not even metaphorically, changkyun is being so loud — he must really be right up against the wall, because he knows kihyun is listening. fuck, he knows.

somehow, kihyun doesn’t mind. he _is_ listening, after all. he’s stiff in his skin-tight jeans and he rubs the heel of his palm over his cock, letting changkyun pant and gasp and beg into his ear, changkyun and his warm neck, changkyun and his gentle hands that shake so badly when he’s overwhelmed, changkyun and his eyes, so dark, so trusting, not only that but pleading with kihyun for more, harder, deeper, bite me, bite me—

and then, all of a sudden, kihyun realizes that he’s _not_ imagining that; changkyun really is saying it, out loud. to the person who’s fucking him. desperate, wrecked, so hoarse and slutty and shameless, “bite me, here, it’s okay, i want it, please,” and kihyun’s blood — his borrowed blood, the blood of someone he thought might be a friend but clearly is a stranger — doesn’t run cold, but he does feel sick, sitting up fast, pulling his hand away from his cock, overrun with the kind of emotions he hasn’t had in years, even from before he was turned. his new body can hardly handle it. if he stays here, he might go in the next room and kill him. changkyun? the other vampire? both? kihyun pulls his shoes back on and with tense steps goes down the stairs and out of the house. into the night, but he doesn’t feel the chill. 

it’s not bloodlust. it’s the furthest thing from lust, actually. it’s cold, unadulterated betrayal. what, does changkyun think kihyun can’t get a meal fucking anywhere? never mind his standards, never mind his preferences. he’d have humans lining up down the fucking street to get their kicks off his bite, his venom, the bewitching power of his gaze. but he abstained. for _changkyun._ how idiotic that seems now. kihyun had entertained some semblance of reciprocity, of an unspoken agreement between _both_ of them, but clearly changkyun has no such illusions. and so kihyun’s suspicions about changkyun, about how quickly he’d responded to the message on craigslist, about the wealth of information he had concerning his reactions to being fed on, are all confirmed in one fell swoop — he’s not a selfless martyr to the vampiric cause, he’s a common blood-bank whore, craving a fix for his perversions from any guileless sucker who’ll stick their fangs or god knows what else inside of him. changkyun _used_ him. kihyun doesn’t know who’s more repulsive — changkyun for that, or kihyun for ever thinking he could be more.

he walks through the city until daybreak, swaying out of the path of drifters and the unattached for fear of turning this murderous rage elsewhere, to someone who doesn’t deserve it. but doesn’t changkyun represent all humanity? they all deserve it. kihyun’s spiraling, he knows it, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do? eventually, he goes home, knowing changkyun will have shyly, dashingly asked his fanged sex toy to vacate the premises by now so he can get ready for work. kihyun goes inside. changkyun is at the kitchen table, eating a croissant and wearing an abysmally stupid facial expression. kihyun doesn’t look at his throat to check for marks — doesn’t look at him at all, in fact.

“top o’ the morning to ya,” changkyun says in a disgusting irish accent.

kihyun doesn’t even look at him. as though he’s not even there, but he can hear the little flips and flutters of his heart. the aftertaste of changkyun’s blood typically lasts a couple of days, and now it’s bitter. 

this lasts a week. until their next scheduled feeding. normally they don’t interact much; a curt good morning or good evening, and changkyun is off at work most of the time anyways. kihyun has books to read, et cetera. but now the separation feels very intentional, and kihyun has… grown accustomed to the nearness of him, to his human sounds and needs and existence, and, of course, to a once-weekly dinner keeping him healthy and hearty and strong. but, for lack of any other willing prey, he’ll have to go without. no fucking way is he giving changkyun what he wants going forward; he’d rather cut his nose off to spite changkyun’s face, as it were. they typically feed on thursdays, and changkyun saunters his way into kihyun’s living room, undoes his shirt half-way, rakish, louche, and says, “come get your juice, then,” and kihyun, kihyun craving, kihyun famished, keeps his eyes on his book.

“i’m not hungry,” he says coolly, after a moment.

he can hear changkyun’s heavy blink of confusion. “you’re— but it’s been a week,” he explains, sounding confused, as though he’s doubting the passage of time. “don’t you need to eat?”

no response from kihyun. he can taste the change in changkyun’s temperature in the air, anxiety giving him the chills, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t prod kihyun further, just turns and goes. he can doubtless see the slight hollowness in kihyun’s cheeks, the marginally slower pace at which he ascends the stairs each day, but he doesn’t pry. is kihyun supposed to take this for kindness? changkyun goes back up to his room, which is a fucking miracle, considering kihyun was expecting him to go right back outside, find someone else to give him a hit of the venom he so desperately craves. slut. kihyun can’t believe him, and, fuming, he accidentally rends the cover of the book he’d been pretending to read in half. fuck. 

so that’s. fine, kihyun supposes, it has no choice except to be fine, but another week leaves him weakening even more rapidly. his cheekbones are further accentuated, his eyes darker, emptier, and he’s noticing changkyun more, the steam under the door when he showers, kihyun finding himself lingering just outside in the hall, drawn as if a fly to a rotting carcass before he realizes where he is, what he’s doing, and hurriedly moving along. he’s not _really_ starving yet, just being dramatic. he’ll be fine, he’ll last much longer. before changkyun came along, after all, he’d go a month at a time without feeding. (and he’d nearly crumbled into ash by the time he made that craigslist post, a nagging voice at the back of his mind that sounds unpleasantly like baekhyun reminds him. he needs to eat. it’s his primary drive, his _only_ drive. the longer and longer he goes without blood, the weaker and weaker he’ll get, and then changkyun really will leave without looking back.)

“hungry today?” changkyun asks absently, passing by kihyun in the library, his face nakedly hopeful.

“no,” kihyun says, so calmly that it may as well not be a lie. he’s not hungry, that’s not it. he’s freezing. he gets the shivers late at night, and changkyun is content in his human-warm paradise in the room next door, radiating like a furnace, warm and hot and fresh out of life’s oven, like a calzone or something. kihyun used to fucking love calzones. now he’ll never eat one again, and the calzone equivalent he lives with has been spreading his eager veins for any vampire that’ll give him the time of day. 

how long can kihyun go without feeding? it’ll be an interesting experiment. he doesn’t _want_ to regress to a corpselike state, but he’s been close before, not that time he solicited changkyun’s help, but another time, earlier. he’d rather avoid it, if he can. but it’s been three weeks, and he’s certainly not well at all but he can manage. he no longer goes downstairs for fear of not being able to make it back up unassisted. hasn’t seen changkyun in days, and that’s exactly how he’d like to keep it. will it be worth it, to have spited changkyun even slightly, if he ends up catatonic, rigor mortis-stricken, not quite asleep but certainly not waking, trapped in his own marbled body? yes, in fact, it will. living with a human is an extraordinary test of his patience, especially when it’s _that_ human, and when the house reeks of him, his blood’s clean, sweet scent permeating the walls, the air, even in kihyun’s solitary room. in a weak effort to jumpstart kihyun’s desiccated predatory drive, his body forces his fangs out semi-permanently — presumably he’ll be able to retract them again once he’s fed. he gets the hint, but does nothing about it, just curls up in his nestlike bed, cocooned in blankets, none of which do him any good whatsoever. fucking hell, this is miserable.

doesn’t changkyun care? weren’t they friends? kihyun is actively avoiding changkyun, but changkyun seems content with this new level of separation. they used to see each other, didn’t they? saying good morning, sometimes even good night. kihyun finds himself unable to remember some things, which is most certainly melodrama, considering it’s only now been a month; the longest he’s gone without feeding was a month and two weeks, and he knows that threshold is approaching, and he doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to cross it. 

and finally changkyun appears in his doorway, sees kihyun brittle and pathetic, and kihyun can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes, despises him with every fiber of his being, and looks away. “are you… okay?” changkyun starts, tentative.

“i’m fine,” kihyun says, clipped, slowly, because talking takes effort and he’s trying to save his fucking energy.

changkyun visibly wavers, doesn’t know how to continue. out of his peripheral vision, kihyun can see that he’s pulling at a hangnail by his thumb, a nasty human habit, and if he breaks skin, kihyun won’t be able to hold himself back, he won’t be responsible for what he does to him. “i miss you,” changkyun continues, and he sounds breathless, all in a rush, like he’s racing himself to complete his thought before his courage runs out. “i’m sorry for whatever i did. please— please tell me what i can do to make it up to you.”

kihyun doesn’t even bother scoffing. he doesn’t respond. his eyes are fixed dully at a spot three feet away from changkyun — the wallpaper is starting to peel, and if kihyun makes it through another week, he’ll call someone to come replace it. and try not to drain the handyman in one go, but. that’ll depend on how he’s feeling by then.

“or,” changkyun says, quieter, “if you want me to move out, i will.”

“i don’t care,” kihyun says. 

clearly changkyun doesn’t, either. when they met for the first time in kihyun’s new life, he’d been concerned with how kihyun was; he’d worried over how sickly he seemed, he’d wanted to help. but now he doesn’t even offer, not really. kihyun regrets not looking at him after saying his final piece, but only because he didn’t get to see whatever kicked-dog expression changkyun doubtless got as a result. tail tucked between his legs, changkyun retreats to lick his wounds, and he has the decency to close the door behind himself, leaving kihyun, once again, alone.

consider the gauntlet thrown, then. changkyun hasn’t been fed on that kihyun can hear; the march of his blood through his body is maddeningly perfect, lush and loud and so fucking tempting, not a beat weaker than it should be. kihyun’s hands get stiffer every morning and changkyun must still be taking his supplements because the smell is _unbelievable,_ the finest delicacy, three michelin stars for kihyun’s former lunchbox, and kihyun just has to sit there, ossifying, and ignore him. shit, he might actually die again at this rate, for real this time. 

so what’s a guy gotta do? craigslist had worked last time, but maybe a little bit too well. and he can’t risk posting somewhere that changkyun could see. with inflexible, barely functioning hands, kihyun makes a tinder. doesn’t bother too much with choosing a picture — his vision has been bad for quite some time since his abstinence began, and as such he can barely focus on picking one out, just taps the first one in which he thinks he might look passable. the circus of swiping until — a match, 2 miles away, can you meet tonight? _i need to eat. i’m sorry. i won’t lie to you about what i’m on here for._ and, blessedly, _it’s cool, vamps get me so hard hahahah, you can do whatever you want to me! :P_

ugh, disgusting. but kihyun is out of options. changkyun isn’t at home, he’s god knows where, and kihyun thinks he can hear his heartbeat from all the way across town, a beacon calling out to him, calling for kihyun to come and claim what’s his. kihyun ignores it. creaks his way out of bed, manages to dress, very, very slowly comes down the stairs, taking breaks every three steps, leaning heavily against the wall. what’s the point in being immortal if you get old over the course of a month? it’s so stupid that kihyun agreed to not feed at home, because changkyun doesn’t care, changkyun let someone else drink from him with kihyun in the very next room, and it’s been a month but that still stings more than anything, so kihyun makes his unsteady, hobbling way to the coffee shop on the corner where he’d agreed to meet— shit, he already forgot his name.

being outside, being surrounded by humans, when he’s this weak is excruciating. he’s dizzy and dazed and ravenous, his vision is black and spotted, his mouth is so dry, he’s so cold, he’s so so cold. his muscles lead the way, taking him inside the cafe, and someone says, “kihyun?” and kihyun nods, his tongue a cotton deadweight in his mouth, fangs cutting into his dried-out inner lips when he manages a smile. 

“you’re cute,” he grits out. “can we— bathroom?”

soft giggling, warm human hands — so warm, so warm, not warm enough — on kihyun’s arm, leading him to the bathroom at the back. he doesn’t smell the way changkyun does, but he’s human, and he’ll do. kihyun pushes him against the door as soon as it’s closed— “oh my,” gasps _wooyoung,_ now kihyun remembers, but he doesn’t have time for niceties, he doesn’t have time for manners and good behavior, he barely manages a kiss with his bloodless, chapped lips to the spot he will drink from, and then he bites, and wooyoung is moaning, much too loud, sort of husky but higher than changkyun’s voice, his hips are wider than changkyun’s hips, his hair is shorter and coarser than changkyun’s hair, kihyun can’t stop finding the differences. on any other day he’d say all humans are basically the same, but wooyoung is so utterly different from what he’s used to. and that’s the excuse he feeds himself along with about four pints of wooyoung’s blood, that it’s merely that he’s _used_ to changkyun, he’s certainly not missing him or any other ridiculous emotional activity. no, he’s _mad_ at changkyun, he’s been betrayed, and he’s already anticipating the look on changkyun’s face when he walks through their door, healthily flushed with a stranger’s blood. he started this game, and kihyun will tell him as much.

when he pulls away, panting, blinking hard as the fresh blood rushes around his body, pushing his flattened veins back open, wooyoung slumps and kihyun, more reflexive than chivalrous, catches him about the waist, props him back up to lick the bite closed as common courtesy.

“whoa,” wooyoung says, and kihyun rolls his eyes while his face is still hidden.

“you alright?” he asks, stepping away, relishing in the feeling of moving his body without pain.

wooyoung grins, catches kihyun’s wrists and pulls them back around his waist.

“not as good as you’re feeling, am i right?”

kihyun laughs half-heartedly, maintaining a bit of distance even as he’s pulled closer.

“listen,” wooyoung says, and there’s something sweet on his breath, like candy or gum.

“we can go back to my place, if you like? it’s not far.”

kihyun hums and allows himself to be pulled down for a kiss on plush lips, all of this guy’s features are so big, he sort of looks like someone took him by the ears and stretched him. changkyun’s mouth is so much smaller.

kihyun shakes his head and kisses wooyoung harder, and he means to say sure, why not, he means to say yes, but instead, he says, “not tonight.”

wooyoung is visibly confused by these mixed messages. kihyun would be, too. “oh,” he says. “but i thought— i guess we can just, here?” and starts reaching for kihyun’s belt.

“i can’t,” kihyun says. “i’m really still not over my ex. i’m sorry, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

where the fuck did that come from? kihyun watches as wooyoung’s face blossoms into disappointment, and he pulls back, crossing his arms. “you vampires are all the same,” he huffs. kihyun doesn’t have the urge to apologize, just lets wooyoung feel whatever he’s feeling, too busy taking stock of his own renewed faculties, his warm extremities, sharp vision, painfully sharp hearing. and finally wooyoung half-smiles, pets his hand down kihyun’s arm, and says, “it’s okay, i understand. i really hope things work out for you.”

kihyun gives him one last kiss in parting, to soften the blow of being so obviously used for one purpose and one purpose only, and the world is shining with new colors when he goes back outside. after he’s just fed, he can even tell the differences in the temperature of the air, and it’s a crisp day, but kihyun isn’t cold. wooyoung’s blood didn’t taste the same as changkyun’s — but to a starving man, anything tastes divine. the aftertaste, though. not kihyun’s favorite. he’ll brush his teeth when he gets home, but for now, he just hums to himself as he makes his sprightly way down the street and to the house. ah — sounds like changkyun is home already, but the drumbeat of his heart isn’t painful for kihyun anymore. kihyun unlocks the door and goes inside, and there’s the clatter of footsteps down the stairs making kihyun wince with the volume, and changkyun, wild-eyed and disheveled, staring at him.

“you’re okay!” he says, stupidly stating the obvious. “kihyun, i— where did you go? i got home and you weren’t here, i thought something happened—”

“i went out,” kihyun says crisply, closing the door behind himself. and for the first time, changkyun really looks at him, sees the gloss to his hair, the warm flush to his cheeks, his perfect posture, his reddened lips. satisfyingly, changkyun reels back like he’s been slapped, taking on the wounded expression of a recently-kicked puppy. so he’d worried about him, had he? kihyun grants him a polite, mirthless smile, and pushes past him to go up the stairs. changkyun is just standing there, dumbfounded, small mouth gaping open in shock as he watches kihyun go. kihyun doesn’t look back — he got what he wanted, after all. 

changkyun seems to find more excuses to be out of the house, after that. he goes to work early and comes back late, never smelling like other people, never sounding fed on. it’s not kihyun’s fault he can’t find someone else to render him a capri sun. yes, using wooyoung had been an excellent idea. now kihyun is no longer addled and weakened by the presence of changkyun so close, so near, so tempting, the soft wet pulse of his heart deep and slow on the other side of the wall late at night when kihyun is aching for lack of sleep and for lack of him. now kihyun is just fine with it. he’s strong and healthy and shameless, and when he starts feeling the pull of cold hunger around a week later, this time he doesn’t shy away or make himself a martyr to his own spite — back to tinder, and he has a date set up in another hour. 

this one’s name is soonyoung, and he’s sharp and boisterous and cheerful, and he warns kihyun nearly straight away that he doesn’t let anyone bite on the first date. “ah,” says kihyun, smiling sparkly-eyed and lovely at him, “so clearly no one’s ever bitten you _right_.”

somehow, that works. soonyoung’s blood is almost citrusy, and kihyun is reminded unpleasantly of the sensation he used to get upon accidentally swallowing shampoo. he’s no changkyun, kihyun’s just not used to him yet, but it gets the job done, and kihyun is preternaturally strong once more, he can see a sparrow at the top of a building across the street sunning itself until it gets menaced by a passing crow and is forced to flee. kihyun walks back into his house with his head held high, knowing changkyun will be back from work by now, and sure enough, he’s there in the dining room. he looks up to see kihyun coming in, takes note of his appearance, and he tries to hide it but kihyun can see just how hurt and disappointed and betrayed he feels. ha. not so fun to be on the receiving end, now, is it. “top o’ the morning,” kihyun says though it’s 6 pm, delights in the needless cruelty, and changkyun makes a feeble mumbling noise in response; it’s the first time kihyun has spoken aloud to him in a week. 

kihyun supposes this is just how things are, then. and he’s fine with it. in retrospect, it’s absurd that he’d ever even tolerated the arrangement with changkyun, let alone sought it out, let alone mourned its unjust demise. now he just has a shitty roommate he can’t get rid of, who does him no good whatsoever, whose breath is so uneven sometimes late at night but kihyun, even with his high-def hearing, can’t tell if it’s from jerking off or crying himself to sleep. doesn’t matter either way. but kihyun thinks that maybe if he could sleep, maybe if he could dream, he’d be dreaming of changkyun’s blood, changkyun’s gentle hands on his elbows, changkyun’s whiny, weak noises as he lets kihyun consume him. but kihyun can’t sleep or dream, so the point is moot, and he scarcely thinks about changkyun at all. 

he makes it two weeks before the next time his cravings start to overcome him. by now, he’s very much accustomed to this new routine. tinder, check. blood slut of the week, check. kihyun dolls himself up pretty, a v-neck shirt, his hair pulled back, his jeans practically painted on, and makes for the stairs. changkyun is home, no work today, but who fucking cares. kihyun’s keys jingle in his pocket, and that’s enough to make changkyun look up. kihyun meets his gaze evenly, and changkyun swallows — kihyun hears the click of his dry throat. 

“where are you going?” changkyun asks tentatively. 

kihyun shrugs one lithe shoulder. “out.”

with an unpleasant scrape of the chair legs against the floor, changkyun stands up. his heart is beating hard and desperate, and kihyun notes with some surprise that his eyes are glistening, more so than usual. he opens his narrow mouth, kihyun sees and hears his tongue move to speak, then he closes it again, his knuckles white as he grips the back of the chair. 

“something to say?” kihyun taunts lightly, turning to go. 

“i can’t do this anymore,” changkyun says, shuddering. “i can’t do this, i can’t do this, i need you back. don’t you need me? he didn’t— he didn’t bite me, he was just, just a human, i was just being horny and stupid, nobody’s fed from me since you, i swear. i swear, kihyun, it’s only you, i can’t believe you’ve been— you’ve been, with other people, i— kihyun, please listen to me—”

kihyun had no idea he was so perceptive, or that he was even capable of putting the dots together to that extent. he’s outright begging, a pallid and trembling mess, and kihyun wonders how long he’s known the reason behind kihyun’s sudden cold-turkey rejection, and why he didn’t say anything before, why the motivator for him to snap was the obvious proof that kihyun was feeding from others and not anything else. so this was all a stupid, horny miscommunication? kihyun stands, impassive, in the doorway and can’t believe how stupid all this is — changkyun, horny idiot that he is, was trying to make kihyun jealous, and, horror of horrors, it worked.

kihyun wants to scoff at him, to scorn him and disdain so he can go off to try and recover from this moronic blow to his agency as an undead superior being.

instead, he says, “changkyun—” but is interrupted immediately, changkyun rounds the table to him, still keeping a few feet between them, and this is so strange, surreal; they are either close enough to kill or worlds away, the walls of the apartment between them, politely ignoring each other, what is this? this half-way point, this middle ground? kihyun hates grey areas, but here changkyun stands, making one, mixing colors, their very world tilting on its axis. he wonders how they’ve survived a near season of silence, but somehow this, this indistinct distance, is the most uncomfortable thing yet. changkyun wrings his hands, and oh god, he truly is about to ruin it, everything, this is spinning further out of control by the very second and kihyun isn’t sure he’ll survive this, even being dead already.

“kihyun, you don’t understand. when you — when the door opened? and it was _you?_ i — i couldn’t believe my luck. i couldn’t believe it. it was like — like i had been given a second chance, not, not that you owed me one, but just — just a second chance at _knowing_ you.”

just about every single one of kihyun’s panic alarms are going off right now, the inside of his head is a mess, he can’t — is not willing to process this right now, but he’s rooted to the spot, changkyun’s eyes, his watery, sensitive eyes, hold him in place as if by the mythic compulsion kihyun is supposed to possess.

“i’m sure you know, knew, but i was _in love_ with you. embarrassingly so. i wrote — i wrote letters and music and poetry and you were so, so far out of my league, and i was too fucking stupid to just take what i could get, i was bitter, but now i know better. i got a second chance, kihyun, and i can’t lose that over — over some _stupid_ shit that didn’t even happen! i can’t!”

he’s breathing so hard, still maintaining that ambiguous distance, and kihyun feels the strangest thing, like nausea as a mortal, like the hunger that’s always there, but it’s sharp and pulling; his foot moves of its own accord to step closer. changkyun looks at him like he’ll die if he stops. he sounds like it too, like that pounding, telltale heart is only pumping blood for kihyun to take, every aspect of changkyun is open, so much like alice’s treats in wonderland — _eat me, drink me,_ but changkyun wants so much more, doesn’t he, _touch me, love me, use me._

he continues, and the wavering timbre of his voice startles kihyun so much he tenses.

“but now i know better, i do, so kihyun, forgive me, don’t, kick me out, drain me, i don’t _care._ it’s not the venom, it’s not the blood, it’s _you,_ so i will take it, whatever it is. i am —” he swallows, seemingly at a loss, but then his face changes, and kihyun knows this can’t be good, he’s never seen changkyun’s eyes this wild before, and suddenly changkyun’s hand is a flash running to the table — there’s a knife there, their letter opener, and kihyun’s starving veins sing out, and changkyun gasps in one last ragged breath before he digs the point of the knife into the point of his finger and slices down, sharp. kihyun hears the skin tear, smells the immediate sweet rust in the air.

changkyun blinks at his hand as if dazzled by his own shining, cherry blood, but he turns back, something so plain on his face. something so obvious.

“i am so voracious, kihyun,” he says, finally slow, finally soft.

“aren’t you?”

and kihyun was right, he cannot take this, one of them will surely come to an end here, in the crossing floor between the door and the kitchen. 

his body continues to ignore whatever incoherent things are happening in his brain, and his feet carry him closer, across that bothersome distance. changkyun’s bleeding is already beginning to slow, his body trying to fix itself, knit back together, but kihyun won’t allow it. how rude, to ignore changkyun’s generosity. carefully, gently, he takes changkyun’s hand, avoiding the vibrant red pooling in his palm. he brings the cut to his mouth, changkyun’s fingers limp, pliant. and he flips the palm and presses changkyun’s index finger right against his tongue, and changkyun moans something absolutely terrible, helpless and pleading, but he’s still like stone.

kihyun closes his lips, does not suck, does not bite, simply licks him clean, healed, chases the rest of the drying blood to changkyun’s lifeline, runs his tongue along it. changkyun watches him, mouth open in disbelief, in gratitude, in reverence.

tendons hold the bones of changkyun’s wrist tight, veins pressed along there, greenish purple, the skin near-imperceptibly shifting with his pulse. kihyun meets changkyun’s eyes, and he is so reminded of the first time they did this, but now changkyun doesn’t hide his eagerness, his fear, none of it. his eyes are wide, swimming with anticipation and that _thing,_ that look.

“i’m going to bite you,” kihyun says, lips hovering over changkyun’s delicate, warm wrist.

“don’t let me kill you now.” changkyun swallows again, shakes his head, nods.

soonyoung’s blood was truly awful, kihyun knew this in the moment, but as a thing of fact the second he smelled changkyun’s fresh blood again, but now he is almost retroactively nauseous; like surviving on hot ‘n’ ready pizzas and suddenly having a lobster dinner, changkyun is buttery and hot and delicious, perfect, untainted by any bitter colognes or frivolous tattoo ink. kihyun doesn’t know how he ever thought anything could compare. he grips changkyun’s elbow, basically shotgunning him like a can of beer, and changkyun is _thanking_ him, he says, “thank you, oh my god, thank you so much, i’m sorry, thank you.”

he stumbles at some point and kihyun lowers them both to the floor, licks his wrist closed, kisses up his arm, licks the joint of his shoulder for no good reason, finally makes his way to the smooth expanse of his neck, which changkyun offers willingly, turning his head in complete surrender. his eyes are still shining, and for once kihyun takes in the true differences between them, the mortality he’s already become vaguely unaccustomed to. where kihyun is stiff and smooth as polished granite, changkyun is just the delicate shape of an oil painting, brush strokes in his damp, tan skin, red pigment smeared across him despite kihyun’s efforts. his chest moves but this is the only sign of life, because under kihyun’s quietly vicious hands he is so breakable, so soft, just a press of his thumb into changkyun’s windpipe would end him, just like that. changkyun teeters on the edge, a taunting cat curling under kihyun’s hands, telling him he could be dead already, he’s barely even alive, feel the pulse now, how sluggish, how weak. he begs kihyun to break him, with that look in his eye, it’s not even a dare, nothing of the sort. it’s a prayer, almost. an askance, and changkyun finally lets his eyes flutter closed, and offers himself as sacrificial lamb, raising kihyun to a full apotheosis as the single worshipper. as kihyun cradles the back of changkyun’s eggshell skull and sinks his teeth into gossamer veins, changkyun’s chest gives a little shove, and salty coolness slips into kihyun’s mouth along with the richness of his blood. kihyun lifts his eyelids and stares at the teartracks, and changkyun shakes once more, and kihyun places his mouth the impossibly far few inches to the right, against changkyun’s soft, trembling lips. tears mix with blood mix with saliva, but kihyun has only one thought: he tastes like dedication. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all so much for reading!!!!!! its me taz!!! working on this was so much cwazy incredible fun (it was my first time doing a collab too hehe and roux truly is tha best!!) and im so glad we could bring this to the world! do pls let us know what u thought in the comments (for instance can u guess Who wrote What????) or on the following platforms:
> 
> roux links: [twitter](https://twitter.com/rouxberrv) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/rouxberrv) / [the rest of their fantastic works!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrv/pseuds/strawberrv)
> 
> taz lynx (get it it’s like links but a little Cat.): [twitter](https://twitter.com/paratazxis) / [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/paratazxis) / if youre at all interested in the rest of my changkis they can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul) !!!!
> 
> anyway this was posted as a one-shot but we DO have a second chapter that we will add as soon as we are done with it, so if youre interested in seeing the Future of these bitey clowns, pls feel free to subscribe!! thank u so much again, stay toothy out there!!


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